Please tell me why do people tend to always harshly judge me for my creative moments and seem to enjoy criticizing me for the emotional material that I write down on paper, they never once see the real person that i would, could be, some-how they never ever see the deepening convictions that surrounds me and my soul.

They try to take control of every-little thing that i say and even write out, but i'm not ashamed to really tell them how i really feel about having this empty-longing to try to expose myself, to let the world see me for who i am from the inside out.
how can they not see my heart...

Personalidad

"-Yo sé que lo puedo hacer- dijo Tom Downey,

Mientras se servía otra mazorca de maíz del bol

Humeante… -Estoy seguro de que con el tiempo la

Muerte de ella será un misterio, incluso para mí-"

Secret Window, Secret Garden

Stephen King

-Calma, Andy. Eso no ha sido real- me dije a mí mismo, mientras encendía un cigarrillo nerviosamente. –Ha sido un sueño. Sí, sólo una horrible pesadilla.

No podía evitarlo, pero mis manos temblaban. El placer norma del cigarrillo no calmaba mis nervios. No podía haber sido cierto. Era imposible. Yo estaba en mi jardín, sentía como el aire...

I glance at my watch. It reads quarter past ten. I sigh and tap my feet impatiently.
I remind myself that Daddy's only human. Still I lift the curtains, expecting his Escalade to rumble down the drive and park, but it hasn't. I mean, how long can it take a fully grown man to buy a dozen eggs?
After another ten 分 he arrives home. I grin and open the door like a lady for him.
"Thank you, Arissa," he 返信 coolly. I close the pristine white door behind him and lightly walk upstairs. I turn to the right and walk another seventeen steps to my bedroom. I throw open the door and settle into...